Claymore Shorts
by Silenceinthedarkness
Summary: A series of One-shots that I will update whenever I strike a fancy. Splashes of Yuri but nothing too detailed. Note: I am trying to make this project as close to cannon as I can. If there are any problems with my facts, please contact me and I'll edit it ASAP
1. True Moon

True Moon

"Guah!"

Crimson blood splashed easily onto the rock face leaving no regards to its container.

The vessel that once housed it now hung suspended in midair with spikes holding her in position. Her extremities nothing but lifeless stumps twitching uselessly

"Here's your chance – Finish it."

Those worlds barely escaped through her pale lips. Another splattering of liquid painted the ground an unearthly purple. Gravity took hold of the sacrifice slamming her inelegantly back to earth, with her supports laying in pieces around her.

Her sense of hearing had already been lost. Her vision slowly fading and yet she saw the slim figure crouching over her. Her lips moving though none of the words spoken reached her –ah a goddess she thought. The guardian angel that had protected her. The blacksmith who repairs the shield whenever it returns broken.

Veronica smiled to herself as she willingly allowed the darkness to consume her.

When she awoke, long gone where the gray overcast skies that was notorious in these parts. What replaced it was bright sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the planks. A barn? She felt the straw that was used as her makeshift bed. Her mind a foggy mess of what had happened that day.

"So the sleeping beauty has finally awakened. How was your sleep?"

"Fine, thank you very much." Veronica replied casually to the voice beside her.

Number 14 or the warrior more commonly known as Cynthia dropped from her resting spot above a large stack of hay landing gently beside her.

As the thirtieth ranked warrior, Veronica was both her senior and superior. A position long held by the both of them.

How many years had it been since they had met? She could no longer remember but the ever cheerful Cynthia had constantly been by her side. Yes, it was since their first awakened hunt together that they had been bonded like sisters.

Cynthia had been chasing her ever since that time trying to surpass the warrior who had always stood a rank ahead. While Cynthia had failed times aplenty, Veronica suspected that her junior had always wanted to stay in their current state. From what she sensed Cynthia's latent abilities far surpassed that of her own and if she had pushed, she would have easily been ranked higher.

But for now Veronica was just happy to have her junior by her side.

"You're such a pain, you know that?"

Cynthia complains broke through Veronica's thoughts

as she slipped her hands into her senior's bodysuit, pressing her chest onto her Veronica's back. Her hands moved tenderly, caressing the skin, occasionally pressing or probing each part making sure that the skin apart from their "Stigma" was smooth and the muscles beneath it in their correct placements.

"As a defensive warrior it's my job to take the hits for the team. I believe I told you that before." Veronica retorted saying the same lines she had always said whenever she got badly hurt.

"At what cost Veronica? How many times can you cheat death? One of these days you might end up taking a blow you can never recover from. Also I'm rather sick of having to babysit you whenever you're recovering."

"So says the girl whose hands are nowhere near where my wounds are."

Veronica broke into a rare smile resting her head onto her partners arm.

"Don't be so stingy! Take this as punishment for making me worry about you all the time."

Cynthia snuggled up forcefully stealing Veronica's lips.

"After all until I surpass you, you'll always be mine."


	2. Through God's Eye

Through God's Eye

Father Vincent sighed quietly to himself as he sat within a private room of the holy church. The meeting had been going on for hours but the Clergy had yet to come to a decision: Should the lady known as Latea be accepted into the church?

Usually this matter would have been settled easily with the Father of the local church accepting her and filing a notice to the main branch but the matter of her appearance brought them to where they were now.

"This is madness! Look at her. She has the very nature of a Silver-Eyed Witch. Everything about her fits into their descriptions perfectly. For all we know she could just be faking her blindness!"

"Nonsense! What talk is this that we do not accept those who seek refuge within our city. Going by descriptions, the area around her eyes was scared and that she is blind. Aren't Claymores supposed to recover from these kinds of wounds easily? She's just a lost soul searching for solace."

"Solace? What solace does a blood thirsty demon need with our god! For all we know she might be a spy sent by that Organization."

"Though they may be unnatural, calling them demons would be too much. Have you forgotten it was one of these so called "demons" who saved us during that crisis just a mere year ago Father Serene?"

Those were just some of the random chatter than Vincent picked up. The rest went unheard as he lost himself in thought…

As had been described Miss Latea was a lady that very much fit the description of a Silver-Eyed Witch. She stood a head and shoulders above most men with her long and straight blond hair fell gracefully behind her. Coupled with her slender figure, she instantly drew the gaze of the younger monks from the moment she walked in. The best way that he could describe her would be one of a statue brought to life in all its elegance.

Though in all her majesty, there was only one flaw within her otherwise wholesome beauty – Her eyes. They were scarred with a single wound leaving both sockets a milky white colour. It was this one flaw that had made the church so suspicious.

The only way for normal people to recognize these warriors would have been the combination of their hair, eyes and sword thus earning their nicknames: Silver-Eyed Witch or Claymore.

While it was not uncommon to have blond hair, this lady while possessing the general appearance and aura of these feared warriors was blind and missing the iconic sword. While it was not his policy to judge a person by his looks, Vincent could not help but suspect that she was really one of them; a comrade to the brave warrior who had saved the church in their time of crisis.

"Enough. What are your thoughts on this matter Father Vincent? You have the most experience dealing with _them_."

The old man at the head of the table finally spoke silencing the room and breaking Vincent from his daze.

Taking a deep breath, he started:

"The focus of this conversion has strayed from its intended path my fellow brothers. We are not out on a witch hunt to prosecute this lady but to have a formal discussion if we should admit her into our family. How can we judge a person to be one of these warriors without any solid proof? If this lady can find peace in praying to god then let us accept her wish and allow her to stay. While our laws still prevent these warriors from entering our lands, lest we forget, we are still indebted to them. Also for the matter that she may be a spy, I believe that the Organization would not do something so obvious such as sending someone whom we could so easily deny entry to."

Finishing his small speech, he promptly sat back down awaiting some response or objection.

"Then it is settled that we accept her. But who shall take responsibility to guide this new addition to our family?"

"Father Vincent was it not your decision that we accept her? So I can naturally expect that you would take her under your wing?"

"I wo-"

"I am sorry to interrupt my brothers, but may I request that we have Miss Latea join us?"

Vincent who had already foreseen these series of events prepared to accept this lady and the ensuing gossip that would surely befall him turned to stare at his fellow brother who had proposed the idea.

"Father Mor are you sure of this?"

"Yes, as you all know my church has been taking in orphans and we are currently understaffed at the moment. Also I believe it was Miss Latea who first had approached me and it would be in our best interest that we have Miss Latea join us. Would this be overstepping my bounds Father Vincent?"

"No, of course not. I see no problems with this."

"Then it is settled. Father Mor shall be in charge of taking Miss Latea under his wing."

With those final words, Bishop Kamuri closed the matter.

The lady in question waited patiently beside the room awaiting her verdict. Her face obscured by the rough traveling cloak that did nothing to cover her slender figure. Even as the crowd of Clergymen streamed out of the room she did not move to acknowledge them but waited for one of them to approach.

"We have made our decision, Miss Latea." Vincent addressed her. "You are welcome to stay with the church. Father Mor shall we taking you in."

The lady rose from her seat pulling back her hood and stunning Vincent as to how tall she was but her eyes while milky white that shined pulled him back into reality as she extended her hand.

"Thank you Father, I look forward to working with you."

"As do I Miss Latea. As do I."


	3. Batch 169 1st Year Report

Batch 169 1st Year Report

Within the ranks of the training school it has always been an accepted fact that fatalities are part of the course. It is not an uncommon sight to see whole batches sent off with none returning. Even those who managed to survive have to compete with their fellow trainees for a place within the ranks of the forty-seven territories. However with the loss of manpower during the Pieta campaign, our branch was forced to speed up and streamline the training process to accommodate the replacements. Even then, our results would still have an average of 20% survival rate.

Upon saying this however, batch 169 had a 74% rate of survival a far cry from our estimated average. As such more research must be done on the trainees of that batch in order to determine what caused such a high survival rate.

It is an established fact that higher survival rates correlate to the number of 'heroic' trainees within the batch. By heroic I refer to stronger trainees who attempt to protect their weaker peers. While these trainees are usually the first to die, those who survive are of exceptional strength and eventually become higher ranking warriors while in active service. These trainees while useful in awakened hunts are unfortunately rebellious with little regard for the Organization.

Initial inspections have determined that batch 169 had 3 of such trainees within the cohort of 24. Of which one was eliminated after measures were made to split the batch into smaller groups. The 2 remaining trainees (no. 02 & 21) played a key factor in creating this abnormal survival rate.

Trainee 02 goes against the norms of a 'heroic' character described above with her skills in tracking Yoki and emphasis on the 'search and destroy' ideals. Her strengths lay within solo combat possessing no intimate connections with her fellow peers the exception being trainee 21. While her loyalty to the Organization is undisputable, her headstrong nature and policy to hunt Yoma before they can even attack the group is a determent rather than strength to our training program. On active service however, I believe she has the potential for long solo missions with minimal supervision.

Trainee 21 on the other hand placed large amounts of efforts into maneuverability and overall support. This cumulated into a distinct style in which she appears to be 'floating' in the air giving her unprecedented agility in a three dimensional area. She acts as the guardian of the group and covers trainee 02's mistakes. She regards her fellow trainees as 'friends' and would protect them over orders. It is due to this nature that her treat level to the Organization is high and as such I would recommend either keeping her on a short leash to be easily disposed off or be posted to a location in which she would be unable to interact with the majority of her peers.

I would like to refer to batches 127 and 135 with rates of 68% and 51% respectively comparing them to batch 169 in terms of survival rates within their first year of active service. Batch 179 has the highest fatalities within these above 50% training survival rates. This is due in part to the condensed structure of post-Pieta training allowing 'heroic' trainees to have a greater babysitting potential than before.

As such it is in my opinion that we should have less integration of warriors during their training phase and foster rivalries to create colder and more loyal puppets. A revised training plan has been attached for your reference within appendix A.

Senior Trainer 13

Section 4 (Training branch)


	4. On Wings of Justice Pt 1

On Wings of Justice Part 1

_Where there is Class there can never be understanding. But without division, there will be no order. Humanity has thus made its choice. The lesser of two evils. Of which whose justice does prevail?_

The sight of fresh blood splattered across the forest floor was a sight to behold. Each drop of the purple liquid glistening on the tips of grass as it rained down from above almost like the scene of a mid-summers shower. The propagator of this magnificent display stumbled a few more steps forward its headless figure falling onto its knees and finally into a twitching pile of meat on the ground.

But the hunt was not over.

There were even more of these grotesque monsters lurking in the abandoned town just below. She could sense them; not only from the sixth sense that she possessed, but also through the fibers of hair that had she cast out. It was her specialty. To use her prided hair to fly through the sky so much so that she was gifted the title of "Winged" by her peers.

But this was both a gift and a curse.

She could sense her comrades, friends, dying around her or becoming the playthings of these monsters who knew no honor. Her treads of hair unable to do more than stall for time. Her job was not done yet. No matter how much blood was flowing out from her body; no matter how much pain she was in, she flew onward to save those whom she called friends. Least these treads be severed by the all severing blade known as death.

"Two dead."

Their bodies trashed beyond recognition with limbs pulled apart and heads so smashed in that they no longer resembled the smiling faces of two young girls that so energetically greeted her that morning.

Saying a small prayer to her fallen friends, the warrior covered their faces with rags salvaged from the ruins. I was a rather small price to pay considering a group of nineteen against ten of these ferocious monsters.

"Anastasia! I've tried stabilizing Cloe's wounds but…" the comrade who brought the news stumbled forward barely in any shape to walk herself. "She says that she wishes to see you before…"

"I understand." The warrior rose from her position briskly moving to her dying comrade.

Anastasia knelt quietly beside the girl and took what was left of her mangled hand. There was no hope of recovery. Every breath she took only served to squirt more blood from the massive holes in her chest and abdomen.

But yet the girl smiled, her lips moving wordlessly.

The enhanced resistance that their kind possessed only made dying harder in those conditions. Anastasia clasped the dying girl's hand tightly as she watched yet another friend slowly fade from this world.

Cloe's death however came swiftly. A single swing of the sword had separated her head clean from her body.

"You should have done this much earlier Anastasia." The executioner said as she swung the giant blade splattering the blood of her comrade on to the stone paving. "You may be skilled, but you fail as a leader."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY! TAKE THOSE WORDS BACK DIETRICH!"

The warrior beside Anastasia grabbed the collar of Dietrich's bodysuit her face contorted in a mixture of rage and sorrow.

"YEAH! Says the rebel who decided that charging alone into an area full of Youma's without a plan was a good idea. Look where that got us! Rose, Emily and now even Cloe are dead. GOD DAMMED IT!"

"That's enough Nike, Sol. Dietrich has made a valid point."

Roughly shoving her back, Nike spat beside Dietrich's feet before leaving with her partner to rejoin the rest of their party.

"I would have preferred if you did not charge forward and ignore the plan Dietrich. Anastasia stated sadly as she watched those two leave. "Knowing our instructors, I had a suspicion that they would have given us something big for our final test. I was hoping you could have played it a little safer."

There was no hostility, only sorrowful regrets that plagued Anastasia's voice.

"You babysit them too much Anastasia. These girls will die before their first year of active service ends."

"So says the person who has the highest solo kill count among us all." Anastasia countered "Your headlong attacks trimmed their numbers even before we entered the town."

Getting tired of standing and waiting for their trainers to arrive, Anastasia stabbed her claymore into a patch of soft earth as she eased onto the ground leaning on her blade. Dietrich however stood where she was, beside Anastasia, at attention.

"My kill score has nothing to do with this. It was the most efficient method in that situation. The other trainees would only get in the way."

"And my 'Winged' ability would not? If I'm not mistaken you use my hair as springboards to finish off those Youma."

"I do what I need to get the job done. Your habit of protecting the weak would only get you killed."

"You're as stubborn as usual Dietrich. Did you not kick Lucina away and take the blow intended for her just now? Going by your logic, you are as much at fault as I am you know."

"She was just in the way…" Dietrich's ears could easily be seen to turn slightly pink as she brushed off her friend's comment.

"I have a question Anastasia."

"Oh? The usually quite Dietrich is rather talkative today aren't you? Go ahead, I'm listening." Anastasia light hearty replied.

"If you had to choose between saving a comrade or a group of humans, who would you choose? Personally, I would choose to save the humans."

"Is that so? I would have chosen to save both my comrade and the people."

"I see…" Dietrich muttered before leaving her spot beside her comrade and walking towards their trainers. "That's why you are naive Anastasia. I pray you live long enough to realize that you can never save everyone."

"So do I Dietrich, I hope that we survive long enough to finish this conversion…" Anastasia whispered softly as she watched her friend walk away.

A/N

It's been a while since I've last updated so thanks for the wait (I guess). A shout-out to meme12 for actually recognizing my username (we've met in the strange thing called real life) and for actually remembering some of my obscure Claymore stories (This story is more of a response by someone discovering who you are more than anything). If you wish to check out the complete opposite of what I like to write about please do check her out. Do be warned it has some Yaoi in it. :)

SITDarkness


	5. On Wings of Justice Pt 2

On Wings of Justice Pt 2

A steadfast tailwind had blown the ships far and swift. Ships that carried silver-eyed witches fresh from treason towards the holy city where they would face their fate.

Dietrich stared listlessly into the horizon where stars met the gaping void that swallowed its light.

"Can't sleep?" A voice came across from the crew's quarters below deck.

"Anastasia" Dietrich acknowledged her comrade's presence with a nod before turning back to the ocean.

Leaning back on the ledge beside her friend, Anastasia allowed the rhythmic lapping of the waves to carry her away. Those golden lock of hair easily flowing in the sea breeze.

Moments like these were few and far between. Safe from the ever looming threat of the Awakened and among friends and comrades.

"They're beautiful aren't they; the stars. _Ahh, how I long for a time gone past, where worlds of passion were so eagerly heard. Now I lay in field of death, as the stars fall down to claim my soul…_" Anastasia lightly sung her last verse of a popular song.

"But that's not why I'm here. It would take more than the heave and pitch of a ship to keep the great Dietrich awake. And while the sight our leader Miria being seasick was quite the spectacle, I believe weightier are to be addressed. So what troubles you old friend? Maybe a tankard or two of ale may moisten these lips to ease a burned heart."

Anastasia grinned quoting poetry this time as she presented a dusty looking bottle and two tankards from behind her back.

"You're a noisy one Anastasia." Dietrich brushed her friend's concern coldly aside but still took tankard and downed it all in a motion grimacing at the foul tasting liquid.

"To our freedom and whatever it may bring!" Anastasia held her mug to the stars before clinking it lightly on Dietrich's empty mug and finally with matched vigour emptied her tankard.

"Egh! What manner of vile concoction is this? I found a few bottles of it on the ship but I never expected this one to be that bad. Come on one more!"

Pouring another healthy dosage into both cups, she offered another to her partner.

"What would you do if everything you believed in was shattered in a single day Ana? Everything I believed in. Everything. All those orders I thought were honourable were they for the greater good?"

Six empty bottles lay rolling on deck as the red-faced Dietrich spiled her innermost thoughts.

Anastasia signed softly "For all that boasting about what a fine drinker you are, you sure changed your character easily…"

"Did you say something Ana?" Came a slurred reply.

"Do you remember what you once told me Dietrich? About how you said I could not save everyone? You were right. I watched powerlessly as my friends and humans died around me. All this power that I gained was never enough to protect those precious to me. I was lost, unable to move forward. Nike beat me senseless after that incident. It was thanks to her and Captain Miria's deeds that gave me an answer: To rely on my friends; my comrades. That is why I choose to come alone. Even in insurmountable odds, we can carve our own future. A future where there is no more needless bloodshed…"

Anastasia turned to her Dietrich…

Only to find her curled into a ball lightly snoring.

"Maybe, just maybe we could surpass the odds and triumph… On these Wings of Justice, I hope we succeed."

She prayed softly as she carried her old friend down.

A/N

I'm writing this in a waiting lounge of Narita Airport (Tokyo!) waiting for my friends to arrive in a flight 6 hours later (are arriving from different countries so yea…). 21 Days spent free and easy to see the sights and sound that Japan has to offer.

ANW, I wanted to have a lighter take on Claymore while being faithful to the original story cannon. This takes place on the journey back to the Holy City after the organization was destroyed. Dietrich and Anastasia may be a little OOC due to being drunk (Dietrich, I believe can't hold her alcohol).

As this was the product of a few hours work, I have not fully researched the incidents that led up to this scene. Therefore, to the readers live by the cannon, please point out all my flaws and I will strive to edit them ASAP.


End file.
